The feast began. The ale flowed like a golden tide. But as the night deepened, the atmosphere turned as heavy as a coming hurricane. Loki, his tongue loosened by the potent brew, began to weave his insults, stinging the gods one by one like jellyfish. He mocked their courage and their loves, turning the celebratory hall into a den of simmering rage.
"Drink," Ægir commanded, his voice a calm tide. "The sea provides, and the sea takes. Tonight, we drink. Tomorrow, the storms return." Г„gir
He had promised Odin a feast that would be remembered until the breaking of the world, but he had a problem. He possessed no cauldron large enough to brew ale for all the gods of Asgard. The feast began
Ægir, the ancient giant of the ocean, sat at the head of his massive stone table. His beard was a tangle of frosted kelp and silver sea-foam, dripping with the salt of a thousand storms. Beside him sat Rán, his dark-eyed wife, weaving her unbreakable nets to catch the souls of those who dared the surface without his favor. Loki, his tongue loosened by the potent brew,